Caelum
by Mlle. Elise
Summary: The reason why Godric chose to burn.


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**Disclaimer: **I do not own TrueBlood.

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_Dallas, Texas _

_1984_

_

* * *

_

The only thing she remembered with singular clarity was the orange glow of the streetlamps and the tight arms that wrapped around her to a solid chest. The rest was in bits and pieces, strung together by her imagination like a pearl necklace beaded with dreams and memories.

She recalled a house. A big house shaped in clean neat rectangles and covered with straight-lined windows. The lawn out front was well kept thanks to the generous plots of Astroturf but it was bereft of ornamentation. She knew she was carried over this lawn and the concrete pathway leading to the door which swung open as soon as her bearer stepped up.

The few minutes that lapsed in between this and the next event were a blur so she made it up. She thought there was a party—there must have been—for how else could she explain why there were so many voices talking around her? There was such a heavy mix of perfume and cologne in the air that her nose stung from it.

"Sheriff." A voice boomed from the chest her head rested against. Stirring, she moved, brushing her forehead against a scratchy fabric as she did so. Her brown hair curled around the stiff collar of a jacket but her captor didn't bother to dust it off.

All eyes turn toward her and the man who brought her in, she remembered this. The sea of blue, green, hazel, brown, and black irises that swiveled and roved around her with interest and curiosity. Some smiled, others frowned, but most remained impassive.

"I've got you a present." The voice continued, sounding loud and proud. "In honor of your ascendancy to Dallas."

A murmur of interest rippled through the crowd and the eyes turned from her to someone else in the room, someone sitting in a lone chair and holding a wine glass aloft in his hand. Even she looked up and gazed at the face that would haunt her for years to come. This incognito was young, quite young. Indeed, it was strange that so much attention was being given to someone who looked rather insignificant and small amongst such an imposing group.

"Thank you Harper," the stranger replied, "but I'm too old for gifts as you know."

"You won't regret this, Sheriff." The voice boasted and before she knew it, she was set down on her feet. Once her heels touched the soft carpet, Harper rose to his full height. He was tall, taller than the stranger. A magnificent white coat swept around his shoulders and reached down to his knees but his face? She didn't know what he looked like. The light above him was too bright against his features for her to discern them.

"How _impressive_." A woman sneered, making everyone to laugh.

"The kid's AB neg. I can tell from her smell…when I found her I knew she'd be perfect for you." Harper addressed the man in the chair.

At this, the stranger rose from his seat causing the crowd to sway and move apart to make a wide, clear path.

"Godric, please." A deep voice drawled. "The youngun's filth. She ain't good enough for you, not even for a snack."

"At her age, the skin is tender." Harper countered. None too gently, he grabbed her arm and pressed his fingers into the muscle to show how pliant her flesh was. But the movement caused pain and she winced, trying to pull away but Harper kept her still.

Now Godric—yes, that was his name wasn't it?— stood in front of her and regarded her dispassionately, almost like a scientist would to a subject. Unlike Harper, he was dressed entirely in black but his clothes were finer and more becoming. The color contrasted with his pallor well, perhaps too well, for he looked incredibly pale. His inscrutable blue eyes swept the girl from head to toe then in an uncharacteristic move, he knelt down to her level.

His lips parted. "What's your name?"

"I don't think she understands English, Sheriff." said Harper when she didn't respond right away.

"Spanish then." Godric assessed. Still addressing her, he repeated his question in her mother language. _"__¿Cómo te llamas ?__" _

"Celia." She answered after a shy pause.

"_Celia_." Godric repeated. He watched her look inquisitively at the crowd who cruelly smiled back at her. They were enjoying this tableau of politeness more so than their sheriff.

"_¿Cuántos años tienes, Celia? _"

She held out four little fingers just as she had been taught to do. One for each year she had lived. Her thumb was curled toward her palm, bent and not quite ready to stretch out to make _five_. Godric traced the digit with his eyes, his startling irises sweeping across the brown skin and to the end of the nail.

This was the part of the memory Celia wished were different. In her dreams, she fantasized that this strange man took an interest to her and decided to keep her with him. They would have all sorts of pleasant adventures and at the end of the day, she would get to go home and be forever safe within its walls. Unfortunately, that was not what happened and she knew it because she could still recall the conversation that passed between Godric and Harper.

"Where did you find her?" asked Godric.

"Some motel I was staying at. I got rid of the parents and took the kid when she was sleeping." Harper shrugged, indifferent to the girl's deplorable situation.

Godric said nothing. The signs of poverty were evident on the little girl. Her dress was clean but secondhand and she was painfully thin for a four year old. If he felt any pity he did not show it. Instead, he stood up and turned to Harper.

"I thank you for your generosity but," Godric glanced at Celia, "she is too young for my taste. Return her, unharmed and untouched." He added when he saw several of his party members lean in with a hungry gleam in their eyes.

"But—" Harper began to protest.

"That's an order." Godric dismissed. Then just as he turned away, the child he had rejected stepped forward and clutched his wrist.

The act drew cynical laughs and looks of surprise from the onlookers but little Celia did not mind or even notice. Even when she was older, she still didn't know why she did this. Maybe back then she was less inhibited and was too oblivious to realize the consequence of speaking her mind.

In a clear, thin treble, she asked in Spanish: "Am I going to die?"

Those in the room who understood her were stunned.

"What a perceptive human." Someone remarked.

"Especially given her age!" said another.

Only Godric, it seemed, remained unmoved by this sudden display of precociousness. Perhaps it was Celia's wistful imagination at work again but she believed she saw a flash of sympathy in his face that quickly went as it came. As Harper gathered her into his cold arms, she twisted away from his hold and lifted her brown eyes to Godric's own blue ones. Her gaze was not that of a child's but of a human being determined to cling onto life. To hope.

_That _did not escape Godric's notice and it even drew an indulgent smile from the vampire.

"Not today, little one." He softly replied in English. "Not today."

* * *

_1991_

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_

"Cee! What you doin—?"

"Sssshhh!" Celia whipped around, pressing a finger to lips. "Be quiet, they'll hear us."

The two girls crouched low, peering behind the hydrangea bushes to observe the ongoing party in the mansion. Music blared from the interiors and all sorts of people flitted in and out, laughing and chattering vivaciously. Golden light emitted from the windows and spilled out across the spacious veranda in horizontal planes.

"Look Carol-Anne." Celia whispered, pointing to a lady who had just stepped into the main ballroom, clad in a stunning scarlet gown. "Isn't she pretty?"

"She so damn _white_!" Carol-Anne hissed back. Her red pigtails furiously swung back from the movement of her head.

"So are you." Celia retorted in hushed tones.

"I didn't mean it like that, I meant her skin. Did'ja see it?"

"Nope."

Carol-Anne glanced back at the wrought iron fence. Fuchsia and ivy clambered across the black bars, twisting themselves around the metal. A breeze blew past her, teasing the blossoms then scattering their tissue-paper petals across the garden grass.

Unbeknown to the guards outside, several bars were missing from the fence which provided a narrow passage for anyone up to mischief. The vegetation was so thick that the hole remained undiscovered until Celia, after her daily musings, stumbled upon it. Realizing she was thin enough to pass through, she returned the next night with Carol-Anne and together, the two girls slipped into the garden unnoticed. Or so they thought.

"Why you so into this place anyway?" Carol-Anne asked. "It gives me the creeps!"

"Be _quiet_." Celia chastised in a low voice. She turned back to watch the party from the windows. Her brown eyes were wide and reflected the light back against the liquid surface of her iris. She drank in the sight of the house, it's very image feeling like a balm against her anxious mind.

_This _had to be it. This was her home, and inside were her parents and if not, maybe the new people who moved in could tell her where they went.

For eight miserably lonely years, Celia lived and slept in a tiny bunk at a rundown foster care home. To cope, all she had were scant memories of the past. She remembered soft lights, the smell of strong perfume, a white giant carrying her over fields of grass and murmured conversation. Of course, how could she forget that man and his strangely beautiful blue eyes? He had been so kind to her. Surely that had been her father? No, he looked too young to be that. Her brother maybe.

After pondering over her memories, Celia gradually formed a belief that she had come from a family who lived in that unforgettable mansion and that she had been kidnapped. She became convinced her parents were still searching for her and every time she saw another playmate walk away with his or her new Mommy and Daddy, her conviction grew stronger to compensate for the terrible sadness she felt.

Ms. Greene, Celia's social worker, however tried to correct the girl's dangerous and pathetic fantasy.

"Don't you remember, honey?" She would say. "The motel owner found you asleep in one of the rooms. He called me and I came there to come get you, remember that? Remember how we ate at McDonald's?"

"Then the kidnapper must've left me there." Celia reasoned much to Ms. Greene's distress.

"No, baby. There was no kidnapper." The social work soothingly replied. In the gentlest voice possible, she tried to explain to Celia that the scenario was impossible. The owner of the seedy motel had discovered Celia, alone, in a mysteriously vacated room. The girl's parents, who had indeed checked in with her two days prior, were nowhere to be found.

"What about the house?" Celia would always interrupt.

The lines in Ms. Greene's face deepened. "What house?"

"My house." Celia insisted. "A big man took me away from my house. I even remember my brother. " She added much to Ms. Greene's concern.

"We've been through this before, Sug." Ms. Greene said, pressing her lips together. "That man you keep seeing, it's just a dream."

This always threw Celia into a tantrum.

Shouting at her advocate, the girl yelled like a preacher pumped with self-righteous indignation and absolute conviction. "That was my brother! I can even tell you what he looks like! He had brown hair like me!" She fisted the strands and shook them at Ms. Greene. "His name was Godric and he had blue eyes!"

"Celia, that's enough." Ms. Greene said when she lost patience. Firmly placing her doughy hands onto the girl's thin shoulders, she tried to wring her back to reality. "You're a Latina. If that boy really was your brother, how could he have blue eyes when you have brown?"

"He spoke Spanish!"

"You were four years old." Ms. Greene spoke as if talking to herself. "You couldn't have remembered anything."

So for all of the social worker's efforts to extinguish Celia's dream, it merely added fuel to the fire. Every chance she got to go out, she would peel her eyes as she searched for the house like a sailor desperately searching for any sign of land while sailing across the vast sea.

And now, here she was, in the very garden of the place she had dreamed of.

"It's almost eleven." Carol-Anne warned when she looked at her watch. "We better go back before Beth finds us gone."

"Just a few more minutes."

"Cee, we gotta go _now—_!"

"Why look what we have here." A hand shot out to grab and pull the girls' ponytails.

High pitched screams filled the air as Celia and Carol-Anne were dragged across the garden by the collars of their shirts. Celia twisted and turned around in vain. More than once, her shoes scuffed the grass and the hem of her pants became stained with dew. She fought, her friend fought, both of them rigorously struggled against the hands that held them prisoner.

When they were released, they landed hard on cement.

A pair of dark boots blitzed with silver spurs stepped in front of them. "What the fuck is this?"

"Found 'em in the backyard, spyin." The guard answered. "What you want me to do with 'em?"

The question struck terror in Celia. Slowly, she raised her head to find a bearded man regarding her in disgust and scorn. The wide brim of his hat shadowed his eyes from the artificial lights that emitted from the windows.

"Kill them. Both of them." The man added, causing the girls to shriek and cry out.

Wordlessly, the guard obeyed. Taking Celia by the forearm, he forced her to face him and to her horror, she didn't see a man. What she saw was an open mouth and gleaming sharp teeth, poised to strike. Having no time to think any last thoughts, she shut her eyes and braced herself for the inevitable.

But neither death nor pain came.

"_Back down_."

A loud click and an agitated hiss were heard then nothing.

Celia dared to open her eyes and as if awakening to a dream, there stood the man whose face had haunted her all this time.

"You…" The rest of the sentence died in her throat. She knew he was young but up close, he looked even younger. He was a boy, hardly seventeen at best. If he really was related to her, which Celia now realized was impossible, he would have been significantly older. Besides, where her complexion was dark, his was white as snow. There was no trace of family resemblance whatsoever in that square-jawed face.

"Sheriff." The guard pleaded with the boy.

"What's going on?" A woman suddenly appeared. The skirts of her fine dress flowed about the wind as she ambled towards the trio of men. Her kohl-rimmed eyes swiveled around the garden in confusion then landed on Celia and Carol-Anne, the latter who lay unconscious on the grass.

"Get back inside." said the man with the boots and cowboy hat in a gruff voice.

"I don't take orders from you Stan." She snapped.

Stan glowered. "I'm second-in-command."

"And so am I." The woman bit back.

"What is the meaning of this?" The sheriff cut across them, wanting to get to the point as soon as possible.

The guard then launched into a winded explanation of how he spotted the girls hiding in the bush. He didn't know why or how they got there and when he brought them to Stan, the vampire ordered him to strike.

"I was only followin' orders, chief!" The guard protested.

The young sheriff spared a glance at Celia, the only one awake of the pair. There was something cold and luminous about his eyes, reminding her of coins lying in a pool of light. When they fixed themselves on her, she cringed.

"You're Godric right?" She asked, startling everyone around her.

"How do you know that?" Stan demanded. When Celia didn't answer, he advanced toward her threateningly then was stopped when Godric let out an arm. His eyes were still on the human.

"I remember you." Celia launched out, not knowing where or how to start. "I remember your house. That's why I snuck in. I came here when I was four...do you...do you remember me?"

Godric said nothing but his silence did not discourage her from saying: "I wanted to ask you about…about my parents…do you know them? Do you know where they are?"

All the vampires continued to stare at her incredulously.

"Like if you know their names or something, that'd be good. That's all I need. Please." Her lips started cracking from dryness. When no one said anything she kept babbling on. "I'm Celia, their daughter. I live on Wakefield street at the foster care center and oh please, you have to help me. I've gotta find my parents real soon. No one's going to adopt me 'cause I'm too old. They're gonna kick me out when I turn seventeen and that aint a lotta time—AH!"

Celia screamed when Stan lunged forward and pulled her up to him by her ponytail. As she flailed around, she glimpsed the fangs again, glimmering in the dark against the vampire's sadistic grin.

"I'm tired of your whining bullshit." She heard. "Sheriff, you want me to take care of this one?"

"No!" Celia shouted only to be struck across the face. She struggled to free herself and turn to see Godric. "Please!" She gasped, feeling her lip swell. "Please help me!"

"I said shut the fuck up!" Stan yelled.

"That's enough." Godric coldly interrupted.

Stan froze.

"We've wasted enough time already. We must go back." The sheriff turned away so that all Celia could see was the black outline of his shirt. "Emery, glamour both girls and send them back to Wakefield. Stan, Isabel, come with me."

"But—Sheriff—" Stan looked outraged.

"I said come with me." Godric repeated and though his voice carried no sign of anger, there was a definite chill emanating from him.

Furious but overruled, Stan shoved Celia back into the grass and stormed his way back to the house. The moment she was let go, she scrambled up and stared after Godric's retreating figure.

"Wait!" She cried out. "Wait!"

Then just as she was about to run after him, a pair of hands seized her from behind, spun her around, and she found herself gazing into two hazel eyes that seemed to penetrate her consciousness. Numbing her, paralyzing her, stopping her.

She fell to the ground.

* * *

"With all due respect, sir, just what the fuck were you thinking?"

"_Stan._" Isabel warned.

"You should've let me kill the kid before you sent her back to whatever shit-hole she came from." Stan went on, ignoring her. "But you just let her go! How the fuck are we supposed to protect our nest—our area—now that this girl's on the loose?"

"Show some respect, you moron." Isabel snapped. "Don't forget who you're talking to."

"I'm talking to my _sheriff._" Stan growled back.

"Precisely, and what does that mean?" Isabel asked with withering condescension.

"Enough." Godric cut in, silencing the two counselors at once. After a tense quiet had settled upon them, he ventured to speak in a slow and deliberate voice. "That girl would not have come here had Harper been more careful."

"Harper isn't exactly the most discreet person in the world but I'm surprised myself." Isabel opined. "I thought when you told him to return that girl he would get rid of her somehow."

"Well now we have to go and clean up his goddamn mess." said Stan through gritted teeth.

"This is a first."

Stan and Isabel turned to Godric, perplexed.

"I've hunted for a very long time." He said with his eyes at no particular point. He seemed lost in his own train of thought. "And not once did I suffer any consequences for it. Not once did I have to encounter my victims' families or see how they dealt with the loss that I was responsible for."

"But you're not respons—" Stan began only to stop when Godric raised his hand to stem the interruption.

"…this child…you heard her. You both heard her. She is virtually alone and penniless with no advocate. She wouldn't be if it weren't for us. For Harper, and ultimately me as I am his sheriff." He paused. "I made a serious error in my judgment when I told him to take that girl back. I should've fed from her all those years ago...better that she was dead than to suffer a miserable existence."

"And we can do that by killing her." Stan argued, unable to keep quiet any longer.

"If that's the course of action you wish to take, then be prepared for serious consequences." was Godric's reply. "It's too late for that. Too many people know who she is now and her disappearance is going to be noticed."

"Then what do you propose?" Isabel asked.

To their shock and bewilderment, he said, "I want her brought here."

"_Here_?" Stan repeated in incredulity. He turned to Isabel but even she could not find a way to verbalize her feelings. "_To your house?_"

"Yes." Godric calmly affirmed. "I want the girl to stay here. She'll be my ward and when she is in a more desirable situation, I'll release her."

"Getting rid of her would be easier." Stan paraphrased his previous argument. He looked determined to make sure his point got across.

"It would also arouse suspicion." Godric leveled his blue eyes with Stan's dark ones. "Think about it. A child goes missing and is eventually found dead? The media and the police will be on that story for weeks, months. It'll make it harder for us to manage our nights."

Stan shook his head in disbelief. "This is insane…"

"How do you expect to care for the girl?" Isabel finally spoke up.

"I want to hire a housekeeper and a tutor to watch her during the day." Godric ordered while Isabel took note of it in her head. "She can have the south wing of the house. I don't want her to disturb the gatherings."

"So she'll be kept out of the way most of the time then." Isabel assessed. "She won't interfere with your duties, I hope?"

"She fucking better not." Stan sourly replied.

"Why is it that you feel so threatened by an ordinary human girl?" asked Godric.

As expected, Stan's face darkened and for a moment, it looked as if he wanted to strike Godric although that would have been a grave offense. In silent triumph, the sheriff turned to Isabel.

"Find and bring her to me…"

* * *

_1996_

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_

"Tell me again." Godric paced. His feet tapped against the marble floor as he walked to and fro, waiting for the girl to respond.

"Do I have to?" Celia leaned forward across the desk then laid her entire upper body on the litter of papers and open books in a mock gesture of defeat.

"Do you want to ace the exam?" Godric reflected the question.

Celia rolled to the side. The corner of her mouth pulled back as she smiled. "No….yes….maybe."

Warm light shifted across the vampire's face as he moved toward the table. His hand reached out, skimming the polished surface with his fingertips. Shelves and shelves of books circled him, silently bearing the weight of a thousand authors and stories. A window had been pushed open to let in the spring night air and allow ventilation for Celia, who had been locked in the library since dinner.

Sighing, she lifted herself up. Sweeping her long dark hair to one side, she resumed her former position by leaning her elbow against the desk and letting her head rest along a closed fist.

"Blood without oxygen goes into the right atrium." She recited from memory.

"Via?"

"Superior and inferior vena cavae." Celia confidently responded. "The blood then goes to the right ventricle through the tricuspid valve where it's pumped out through the pulmonary _semilunar _valve and the pulmonary artery to the lungs."

"And what happens then?"

"Gas exchange. Carbon dioxide is replaced with oxygen. The blood goes into the left atrium and moves to the left ventricle."

"You're forgetting a step." Godric reminded.

"Ah…" Celia paused. When she remembered, she took the reins again and proceeded without interruption. "Blood flows back from the pulmonary vein to the left atrium. It passes the mitral valve and into the left ventricle. The heart pumps it through the _aortic _semilunar valve to the aorta. There!" She grinned in triumph.

Godric was pleased. Being someone few words, he found it difficult to lavishly praise the girl though he knew she deserved it. Four years of careful study and nightly tutelage had refined her into an intelligent student. All trace of that dirty orphan girl who babbled in Spanish was gone. Here was a young woman, eloquent and polished. A most worthy return after such an investment of time and effort.

He was proud, of course, but not because of her accomplishments. He had once again proven every vampire within Area 9 wrong, particularly those who decried him for bringing Celia from the foster care center. When Isabel found out that he sometimes read to Celia in the library, she was livid.

"You are the _sheriff_!" Isabel had said. "Not a nanny! This is completely unsuitable for your position!"

Protest as they might, Godric refused to budge and gradually, everyone was forced to accept that the homeless brat was going to be their Sheriff's ward. End of discussion.

"You think I'm ready?" Celia looked up. "This test all you've talked to me about this week."

"That's not true." He said quietly.

Celia raised her brow. "You wouldn't let me talk about prom."

"We have been through this before." His roman accent crept into his vowels, drawing them out in longer sounds. "It's not safe for you to go."

"If Stan or Isabel came with me—" Celia began.

"They won't do it and neither would I let them even if they wanted to. They have other more important duties than escorting to you."

Celia however was insistent. Being young, she interlaced her plea with hyperboles to emphasize the importance of the situation. "All my friends are going. I'm never, ever going to get to go to prom after this."

"You aren't old enough," said Godric though he knew full well that she was of age.

"I'm older than you by a year." Celia countered.

"Only in body." He watched her shuffle some papers on the table, pick up a pencil and slip it back into a plastic case, run her hand along the spine of her biology textbook. She was nervous but he did not ask her what was wrong. He knew she would tell him eventually and sure enough his patience was rewarded.

"Why don't _you_ come to prom with me then?"

One could have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. Just as she had done twelve years before, she surprised him with her pointed questions. He gazed at her and for the first time was struck by how grown up she looked. The lighting of the room admirably set off her dark complexion and framed her hair with a soft yellow glow. Her back curved away from him and from his angle, he could see a hint of her breasts hovering just above the table edge.

Where on earth was the four year old girl he had met in this person?

"That's not possible." Godric replied at last.

"Why?" He heard Celia ask. The tone of her voice was flat as if she already knew what he would say.

"Because I'm a vampire." It wasn't the most forthcoming of answers but it was the shortest and simplest he could find.

"So?"

"So that means I can't go with you. I am far too old and I am not human."

"But you _look _like you're in highschool. Like me."

"That doesn't matter." He said quietly. "I am what I am. Don't make me into something that I have never been or will be. "

"I knew you'd use that as an excuse." There was an edge of challenge in her voice. "Vampire, human, it's unacceptable. Well if that's what you think then what've you been doing for the past four years? Seriously, what is this?" She gestured to herself and her surroundings.

" I'm—"

"I _know _what you are!" Celia burst out. "I've known for a long time okay? _And I accept it. _Why can't you see that?"

"It's not possible." Godric repeated. He was running out of excuses and the girl seemed to know it.

"Stop saying that."

"I can't go." He refused again though without as much conviction than the first time. When she didn't say anything, he added, "I don't understand why you're even asking me."

At that, Celia flipped her book shut and stood up from her desk. As she stormed out of the library she stopped and turned around to face him. Her cheeks were red from embarrassment.

"You know _exactly_ why." She whispered.

Then before he could reply, she withdrew.

* * *

He was an anomaly.

An ancient creature living inside a body of an adolescent boy that thrived on blood. He may have been a sheriff but that position of authority mattered little in human terms. He walked during the night, she in the day. There were a thousand differences between them and a thousand more reasons why it could never work let alone be possible.

That spring she was seventeen, a young woman, but still a child. He couldn't have possibly been in love with her himself.

At least that's what he told himself to sleep in peace.

* * *

"C'mon, dance with him!"

"No." Celia whispered in embarrassment. Refusing to look up, she concentrated on an elaborate napkin instead. A few of her friends circled the dinner table, taking a short break from the dance floor. Their stiff ball gowns swished and rustled as they crowded Celia. Music blared from the enormous speakers from the DJ stand and the ceiling was starred with spinning lights.

"Why not?" Kristen, a pert blonde, demanded. "Look, it's obvious the guy wants to dance with you too." She glanced at a tall boy with a silver dress vest hovering near the table.

"You don't know that." Celia answered in a muffled voice but Kristen didn't hear her.

"Well then dressing up was a total waste! You've been sitting here all night." Another friend complained.

"Yeah, this is _so _not the way to be at prom," was someone else's input.

"Why don't you ask him to dance?" Anita suggested, who happened to have a gentler and more sensitive attitude toward things than the majority of Celia's friends.

"_He _should ask _me_." Celia protested.

"Well he looks pretty shy to me." Anita opined after throwing a furtive look at the boy's direction. "Besides, I'm sure he won't say no. You look so pretty."

While Celia couldn't take compliments seriously, everyone else agreed with Anita's comment. Tonight, Celia's normally straight hair had been curled into soft waves and artfully arranged. Her violet silk dress drew much praise and attention from her friends who were used to her in jeans and a t-shirt. What the girls didn't know was how much time and effort had gone into Celia _attending_ prom.

Undeterred by Godric's denial, Celia got out of the house during the day and spent the afternoon with her friends doing each other's hair and makeup. When the girls completed their toilette, they clambered into a van and drove straight to the Hilton. During the ride, Celia kept glancing back at the freeway, afraid that one of Godric's subordinates was following her. She thought so when a black Honda tailed her friend's car for a good ten minutes but eventually, it slipped into the adjacent lane and exited.

She had imagined that once she made it to the prom, she would enjoy herself and dance the night away. Unfortunately, the opposite occurred. She felt sick with anxiety and couldn't bring herself to have fun. Half the time, she found herself wondering how Godric would react when he realized she was gone.

When she asked him to go to prom, she had meant it. It hadn't been to be playful and yet he treated it like it was. Worse, he said it was _impossible. _

Weren't she, and even himself, living proof that things _weren't _impossible? Who could have guessed that she was to become an aspiring student while she wasted away in that orphanage with no hope of adoption? Who could have imagined that Godric, a vampire old as Christ himself, actually took an interest in her upbringing? _She _made all these things possible and so did _he. _

They had defied convention and fate before so why was the idea of them being together so ludicrous?

That was what bothered her the most.

She might have been young but she was no fool and like so many girls her age, she believed she knew exactly what she wanted.

"_Late at night when all the world is sleeping…I stay up and think of you…" _An airy voice crooned as the music switched from a fast beat to a slow, twinkling tune.

"I love this song!" Kristen exclaimed.

"Me too!" Two or three girls piped up.

Then before Celia knew it, one by one, her friends quit the table to join their dates on the dance floor.

"I'll be right back." Anita said apologetically as she stood up when her male companion came over.

"No, it's fine." Celia forced herself to smile. "Don't worry about me." She watched Anita go and melt into the crowd that seemed to sway silently to the melody.

Now without anyone with her at the dinner table, she felt all too conscious of her position. She fiddled with the cutlery, picked up her wineglass then set it down again. Anything, really, to make herself look preoccupied. At the chorus of the song, a disco ball descended from the ceiling and twirled around, scattering specks of light across the ballroom walls. The couples retreated even further into the center of the floor but for the few that lingered on the outskirts, she could see them lean in close and entwine their hands in the dark.

The sight struck a painful chord inside her.

Getting up, Celia pushed her chair in and turned to go. With every step she took, she perfected a plan. She would call a cab, go straight home, and apologize to Godric. Plead with him to just forget what she said and have things go back the way they were. She could lie to Kristen, Anita, and the others tomorrow morning about why she had to leave early.

When Celia reached the main stairwell, she froze.

Everything seemed to dim around her. The lights, people, even the music. Time itself seem to pause and drag out the moment to prolong the sprig of warmth that bloomed in her heart. Perhaps this was what Cinderella must have felt when she first glimpsed Prince Charming, Celia thought.

For standing at the foot of the steps was a young man, pale and remarkable. He seemed indifferent, aloof to the crowd and onlookers who noticed him. But when he caught the girl's gaze at last, his expression profoundly changed. A smile graced his lips and reached his wonderfully piercing eyes.

"Hello Celia…" was all she heard.

* * *

_1998_

_

* * *

  
_

"It's very far."

They stood alone on the northwest balcony. A handful of stars were sprinkled across the vast stretch of sky and adorned with the golden crescent of a fall moon. There was nothing but perfect silence encompassing them.

"I know." Celia said, turning to him with a sad little smile. A few strands of her hair escaped from behind her seashell ear. "But it's a good school. _Per aspera ad astra_."

"I hate it when you use my words against me."

Celia laughed and while it was brief, the sound stayed with Godric for a long time. It rang in his ears, reverberating throughout his whole body until it escalated down to his heart. He watched her spread her bare arms out against the iron railing and look up to watch the stars. Her slender neck elongated as she craned it toward the sky.

"I think I can understand why you don't miss the sun when you have this." She gestured to the night sky.

"Why mourn the loss of something I already have?"asked Godric. His eyes were fixed on her.

Once Celia slipped her hand into his at the promenade, the rules of conduct changed. Months of courtship slipped into years and were filled with secret smiles, gentle laughs, and a million kisses in between. But unlike most fairy tales, this one did not escape controversy. Godric's counselors warned him that it was dangerous, even stupid, to carry on a liaison with the girl. They argued he was being indiscreet and even the vampire King of Texas was said to frown upon the relationship.

Whatever was said fell on deaf ears.

For once, Godric did not feel like an old man well beyond his years. With Celia near him, it was like getting a breath of fresh air after having been locked away in a box for a long time. Everything to her was like a novelty and gradually, that worldview rubbed off on him too. But perhaps what he loved most of all was her insistence that everything would work out, that he _deserved _to be happy. It was all so irresistible. He was drawn to that and wanted to believe it more than anything.

And now here they were, on the last night that she would be in Texas until she returned for the Thanksgiving holiday. She, who had been with him almost every evening, would be gone. It was an absence that was painful to bear although Godric did not admit this to anyone, least of all Celia. Which was why, he decided, it would be best if he asked her now.

"…if I gave you my blood, would you take it?"

For a long time, Celia said nothing. She wrapped her fingers around the railing then swept along it with the tips of her nails and back again. "Why are you asking me that now?"

"I wanted to wait until you were a little older." Godric admitted. "And now that you'll be far away, it will be harder for me to protect you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me at Columbia." Celia turned to him. "I don't like the idea of you tying to me a leash. I don't like it. You already _know_ my feelings, why do you have to _feel _them too?"

"It is not a leash, Celia, and you don't know what might happen."

She stared at him. "Are you going to force me if I refuse?"

"Never." Godric stated.

"Good, because I'd never forgive you." She let go of the iron bar and closed the distance in between them in a few short steps. Her face hovered just a few inches from his and seemed to glow from the inside. "You can't always be there to fight my battles for me." She murmured. "I might be a few states away but nothing's going to change. You know I love you."

And before Godric could say anything else, she pressed her lips against his and laid a hand on his heart as if to claim it all for her own.

* * *

"Please tell me without equivocation." Godric deadpanned into the receiver. His eyes gazed out from the window of his office to the blue rainy world outside. Raindrops studded the glass panes then trailed down to leave tiny silver circles in their wake.

_"Sir I don't know how to tell you this…but we found Ms. Perez at one of the university parking garages. Somebody saw her down and called 911 but by the time the paramedics arrived, she was gone._" The aged voice paused. "_I am so sorry for your loss._"

_Loss. _

What a feeble word to describe it. _Her. _

"_Sir?_"

Godric gripped the top of his chair. His nails dug into the leather and tore out the cushion that lied underneath. Outside, lightning flashed.

"How did she die?" The question slipped from his lips.

"_We don't know for sure but the coroner's looking into it." _

"Was she…" He shut his eyes and thought the worst. "…was she raped? Beaten?"

The silence that followed threw him into a chasm that he didn't think he would get out of.

"_Sir, I can't explicitly say until we have further evidence._"

"You _will _tell me. Was she or was she not?" There was ice in his voice.

"…_yes. From what we can tell at this point, yes._"

Rage seared into his brain and set fire to his blood. The heat seemed to course through his veins, filling every limb with a renewed sense of purpose and a terrible urge to kill. Celia…Celia…Celia…the name revolved around his head. Did she scream? A horrible image of her mangled body flashed into his mind.

It was a long time before he recovered enough to speak.

"I want her body brought straightaway here."

"_You can once the autopsy is completed—" _

_"—_I don't want an autopsy. I want her brought home now. Tonight."

"_Sir, I understand that you're upset but this is a criminal investigation and until we have determined a cause of death we can't release—" _

The receiver slammed against the wall and shattered into pieces.

* * *

The metal fence shook and groaned before collapsing into a twisted heap when the vampire slammed against it. Gasping, he clawed at the tangled wires with his bare hands and tried to crawl his way out of the mess. On his head was a deep gash that profusely bled and streaked his face with blood. A silver blade protruded from the skull and slowly oozed its way out as the vampire's body began to heal itself.

The vampire suddenly yelled in shock when something pulled him out from the fence and slammed his back against a brick wall. The force alone would have been enough to break his spine but being an unnatural creature of the earth, he withstood it.

"Get—off—" the vampire choked out as Godric wrapped his right hand around the neck. Furious, he dashed the rogue vampire's head against the bricks leaving a smear of blood and skin. The vampire shouted in pain and struggled to get up but when he saw the face of his tormentor, he froze.

Godric knew. He had known the moment Celia's body had been turned over to him and there, on her once beautiful neck were the telltale marks of a vampire's fangs. It hadn't been enough that she was beaten so badly that her face was barely recognizable or that she had been violated in a most gruesome manner. No…

For this vampire, for this _filth, _it hadn't been enough to satiate his cruel appetite.

It had been relatively easy for him to track down the killer as the vampire worked sloppily and left a clear trail behind him. What Godric found was a newly made vampire, weak and primitive, lacking all sophistication and not even having a grain of intellect. In short, the murderer was nothing more than a monster.

"I don't…I don't get this man." The vampire spat at Godric. "Why are you so pissed huh? Is it because I touched your human? Well fuck me if I didn't know she was yours."

Godric struck him in the face.

When the vampire recovered, he forced himself to sit up and looked straight into the sheriff's eyes as much as he could dare.

"Before I kill you," Godric murmured, "tell me why you did it."

The vampire looked up at him with a most curious expression. It was a mixture of confusion and disgust, hardly no trace of fear or remorse.

"_Why_?" The vampire repeated in bemusement as if Godric had asked him to answer the simplest question in the world. "You're wondering _why _I did it?"

The silver blade that Godric had plunged into his skull earlier plopped out and clattered onto the cement. Slowly but surely, the head injury began to shrink and disappear.

"I was hungry, and yeah, a little horny but so what? There's no right or wrong, only survival or death. You get it, don't you?"

Godric froze.

_No right or wrong…only survival…or death…._

The ground seemed to slip beneath his feet and he felt as though he were falling down and down into an abyss. This vampire, the murderer of his Celia had repeated the exact same words _he himself _had told Eric and the others he had turned. Survival or death. The irony was unspeakable.

A vampire had brought Celia to him and a vampire took her away from him, a horrid cycle that began and ended in blood.

What a fool he had been. He had thought, even believed, that he had every right to enjoy happiness and goodness that he had found in humanity. He did not think of the consequences let alone how improbable and laughable it was that one so innocent could love a killer like him. Two thousand years had left a countless streak of victims behind him: men, women, children of all different ages and sizes.

And now, her.

"_Ugh!_"

In one swift movement, Godric plunged his hand into the vampire's chest, breaking through skin and bone to reach. His fingers pierced through the hard walls of the heart then closed over it to reduce it to pulp. Writhing and decaying in front of him, the vampire's body convulsed and finally shuddered before it broke into pieces.

Blood spilled onto the concrete.

The smell of iron washed over Godric and as he stepped back from the ruined mess, he lifted up his scarlet hands. To think that these had once entwined themselves in Celia's hair and brushed her lips was tantamount to obscenity.

He was no better than the scum that lay at his feet, just as guilty, and he too, had killed her.

* * *

_2008_

_

* * *

  
_

A little more than ten years later, Godric at last found a worthy punishment for his mistake.

Over time, he lapsed into what Stan and Isabel perceived as an apathetic state. He treated everything with little significance and retreated more into himself over the years. His aggression and keen sense had all but faded into passive silence.

How unnatural everything about vampires was to his eyes. In the physical world, nothing lasted forever. Matter could not be created or destroyed and a vampire's immortality seemed to go against nature…even God himself.

Not long after Celia's funeral, he returned to the house and in an uncharacteristic fit of anger, he went inside her room and smashed the furniture until there was nothing left of her in the house. Stan, Isabel, and the other vampires stared after him as he raged about the nest. It was beyond them as to how one human could have such an effect on one as old as he was. Taking a cue from his behavior, Isabel took the liberty of removing all material traces of the girl's existence.

As far as everyone else was concerned, Celia Perez was wiped out from memory from then. No one spoke of her, remembered, and dared to mention her, especially in Godric's presence.

For a long time, Godric did not think of Celia, or at least he tried not to. He was not able to work unless he forced himself to remain in the present instead of drowning in the past. But the effort was more than what he could endure and year after year, a part of him dissolved away.

Then for reasons unknown to everyone in Area 9 and in what was a ridiculous way to ease public relations, he surrendered himself to one of the fanatical human churches dedicated to exterminating vampires. The logic of course was irrational but by then, he wasn't thinking straight at all.

When he was rescued, he felt indifferent. There was no sense of relief or happiness, not even when he saw Eric again, his longest serving companion. He did felt one bit of comfort and that was when he saved this human woman from rape. At least he was able to prevent such a nightmare from occurring although afterwards, he felt bitter about it. The act was noble but ten years too late and he wished that the woman he protected had been Celia.

He still felt indifferent when he lost the position of Sheriff after holding it for twenty four years but when he paused and apologized to everyone—Eric, Isabel, Nan Flanagan, Bill Compton, and his human companion Sookie—he felt a decade's worth of guilt spilling from his lips.

Now, as he stood on top of the roof, regret seized him on the spot. He had been stupid to engage with Celia and accept her refusal in making a blood bond. He could have saved her in so many different ways but ultimately failed.

Eric, as expected, came after him and fiercely pleaded him to live but not even that could move his resolve. A vampire's existence, he explained to his fledgling, was unnatural and that not one member of their race were meant to live for so long.

"But we a_re _here!" Eric all but shouted. His blue eyes were narrowed in frustrated rage. "You're the one who told me there was no right or wrong, only survival...or death."

Inside, something in Godric seemed to wither and freeze as the ghost of Celia's murderer repeated the exact same phrase in his head.

"...I told a lie."

"_Godric._"

"Go back." He calmly ordered as Eric dropped to his knees in supplication and grief. "...as your maker....I command you."

Then after much protest and with great reluctance, Eric left, but Godric was not alone when he died.

Sookie insisted in accompanying him and even though he told her that it wouldn't take long, not at his age, she refused to leave. They carried on a brief but meaningful conversation, often falling into deep pauses as they waited for the sun to rise. When she asked him about the inevitable pain, he smiled.

"I _want _to burn."

"But..." Sookie trembled.

Of course, she didn't understand. She didn't know that to him, death was going to be a welcome relief. That's when he saw it—the tears. They pooled around the whites of her eyes and fell from her lashes like evanescent gems.

"A human with me at the end…and human tears." Godric whispered in amazement and for a moment, he felt the weight on his shoulders lift. "Two thousand years and I can still be surprised."

Throwing Sookie one last look of gratitude, he took one last breath of night air and turned to the horizon.

He gestured to her to back away.

The last time he had seen a sunrise had been when he was a slave in Rome. He remembered that day clearly: a pure golden ball hung aloft in grey clouds. But this one was different. The skies were tinged in rose and violet while a ribbon of gold announced the sun's ascendance. Dallas buildings were still black with shadow and seem to jut out the celestial canvas. The image, so different from what he saw long ago, reminded him of something. Latin was not his mother tongue but he remembered it well, and the word for heaven. _Caelum. _Celia.

He closed his eyes and perhaps it was a dream but he thought he could feel a hand enclose over his though no one stood next to him.

Then just as the first morning rays hit his body, they consumed his skin in a hot blue flame leaving nothing but ash to where he had stood.

Death, indeed, was merciful release.


End file.
